


More Than Vibrations In Air

by waltzmatildah



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltzmatildah/pseuds/waltzmatildah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post the season nine premiere... Jackson talks to Mark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Vibrations In Air

At first, Jackson tells himself it’ll just be until the machines are turned off and the inevitable end he can’t quite begin to fathom finally arrives. Or just until the next funeral procession passes him by, one after the other after the other. Or maybe just until things at the hospital have settled back into a routine that doesn’t involve mid-afternoon meltdowns; averted eye-contact and questions that never quite make it to verbalised.

It’ll just be until then…

 

 

 

But when it’s three weeks later and he’s still got Mark Sloan offering sarcastic commentary on even the most inane aspects of his rapidly spiralling sanity;

_‘Full fat milk, Avery? Are you sure you should go there? When’s the last time you hit the gym? Or the sack for that matter. You do know how many calories you can burn-’_

“Yes,” he tells the tub of butter staring him in the face from the middle shelf of the refrigerator. “I know, and thank you for your helpful comments. Much appreciated. As always…”

… that’s when he knows he’s in trouble.

There’s movement then, behind him; gritty footsteps across the linoleum of the kitchen floor; and he’s spinning on his heel rapidly because he knows, _he knows_ , the tub of butter didn’t just offer him weight-loss advice and maybe…

Just maybe…

But: “Hey, _freak_. Who you talking to?”

_Oh._

He drops the unopened milk carton onto the sink then; walks out the front door and leaves Karev and all his insincere questions in his wake.

 

 

 

Some days he finds it comforting. Mostly it’s just plain annoying.

And he thinks that’s probably the point.

Or Sloan’s point, anyway. He always did enjoy messing with Jackson’s head after all.

 

 

 

April comes back; all leaky tears and whimpering platitudes that no-one wants to hear. She tells him, eyes wide and voice set to little more than a whisper, that Chief Hunt came all the way to see her in Ohio to apologise. Or something. Her words bleed together, like lyrics on a loop, and he’s not quite sure he’s ready yet to forgive her for leaving him here all alone in the first place. 

Mark tells him he should _‘get over it and just tap that already.’_

Pauses for dramatic effect and then adds; _‘Again!’_

Jackson’s not sure if it’s _more_ or _less_ helpful that the ghost of Mark Sloan appears to be an all-knowing entity.

 

 

 

It’s harder to ignore him during breast augmentations. And Jackson doesn’t know whether the increase in snide comment frequency during these surgeries over, say, cleft palate repairs on two year olds, is because Mark trusts him not to stuff them up despite the constant interruptions, or if it’s simply because he can’t fucking help himself when there are boobs on display.

He’s leaning towards the latter as the most likely explanation.

But mostly because there’s never been a surgery, before _or_ after the whole ill-timed death-by-plane-crash thing, where Mark Sloan wasn’t one hundred percent convinced that Jackson wasn’t going to stuff something up.

_‘Avery, you can’t be serious. Have you learned nothing at all since I deigned to teach you my craft?’_

 

 

 

Sometimes he thinks Callie Torres might have figured him out. Or maybe she’s got her own version of Mark Sloan sitting on her shoulder day in, day out and she simply recognises the signs…

Either way, sometimes he thinks Callie Torres knows.

She’ll ask him how he’s doing, and sit next to him sometimes at Joe’s. She’ll smile as she passes him by through the elevator doors and it’s always the saddest part of his day.

_’Oi, Avery, she’s married. She’s married to my kid’s mother. Or something. So, watch it.’_

And sometimes the familiar voice in his head is right on the money.

This is never one of those times…

 

 

 

He figures out early on that engaging Mark Sloan in debates at the nurse’s station is a sure-fire way to get himself a night or two in psych. 

_‘I’m still coming to terms with the fact that you ever thought running subcuticular sutures were a good idea…’_

“Whatever. You’re just jealous I can-”

_‘Jealous? Who’s going to be jealous when the guy's face falls apart?’_

“Oh, please. You know as well as I do that his face is _not_ going to-”

“Doctor Avery? Everything okay here?”

_‘No everything’s not okay. The patient in bed three oh nine’s face is going to split open like a melon the first time he-’_

“Everything’s fine, thanks.” Accompanying smile and a quick nod that he hopes looks at least somewhat professional. 

As opposed to, you know, _completely manic_.

 

 

 

There are times when Mark disappears for days on end and Jackson finds himself lost in the endless silence; wondering if maybe he’s off visiting Sofia. Or fly-fishing in Alaska.

Or front row, maybe, at some band Jackson’s never even heard of.

Or sliding down rainbows with Lexie.

He blames the bourbon for that last one, for images of the two of them, hand-in-hand and, yeah. He blames the bourbon. That and the way that April looks at him with a pity so palpable he almost chokes around the tang of it in the back of his throat.

He can’t sleep in the silence. And he can’t bring himself to care.

 

 

 

_‘Tell Kepner she’s way too vanilla for whatever that was she was trying-’_

And… there it is.

“How about I just tell you to mind your own business instead?”

Because, as it turns out, this ethereal version of Mark Sloan respects personal boundaries about as much as the tangible one had.

 

 

 

It all falls apart in the OR. And he thinks that particular outcome had been inevitable for months now.

He’s sleep deprived and on edge. Fighting with April over something he can’t even remember doing. Or not doing. Or thinking about doing. And he doesn’t know the last time he felt anything other than _hollowed out_.

Also, he hasn’t heard Mark’s voice for over a week.

There is also that.

“Tell me what I should do! Sloan, _please…_ ”

There is no answer.

 

 

 

Doctor Torres finds him. And his hands are shaking but so are hers as she clamps them around his knees.

“Jackson, hey.”

“It’s not your fault,” he tells her, and the words sound more like _desperate_ than the _earnest_ he’d actually been aiming for as he pre-empts the unwanted concern he can see coming from a mile away.

“Well, I made him a promise, you know; that I’d look out for you.” She smiles at him, sad and slow. “And I don’t think I’ve done a very good job of it so yeah, it kind of is…”

“He asked you to look out for me?”

“Well, not exactly.” She shrugs and blinks and his heart sinks with the knowledge that he’s probably about to make her cry. “He was beyond asking for anything at that stage. But…” She swallows awkwardly around a deep breath, “I know it’s what he would have wanted.”

 

 

 

They’re shoulder to shoulder and he’s not sure how many minutes have ticked passed them but he guesses more than a handful.

“He used to talk to me…” He trails off because he’d never intended telling her and he’s not sure how he can explain it in a way that doesn’t make him sound crazy.

Maybe he _is_ crazy?

No going back now.

“For months after, it was almost like he was still here and…”

She folds her fist into his, threads their fingers and squeezes.

“I don’t even really understand because- I mean, it’s not like- Because there’s been Reed, you know? And Charles. And even Lexie but…”

_And even Lexie…_

Jesus.

 

 

 

Mark doesn’t talk to him anymore after that. 

Every now and then Jackson will do something ridiculous, just to double check. He’ll drive three quarters of the way to a strip club, or attempt to talk a slim, blonde twenty-something out of double d cups.

And sometimes there’s an echo, a vibration in the air that he thinks might… maybe.

But it’s not.

It never is.

He’s learning to be okay with that.


End file.
